


Rosy

by Ulliva



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Choking, Face Slapping, M/M, Spit As Lube, Spit Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 01:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15675159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulliva/pseuds/Ulliva
Summary: Armie just wants to watch his porn, but he keeps getting interrupted.This is aaaall smut.





	Rosy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ghostcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostcat/gifts).



> This one's for Ghostcat, who's making me write more than ever! It's from the heart <3 (this is porn, but I also really mean it)

 

I should have finished ages ago. I was just gonna get myself off, get it out of the way, before going out there again. It was the beginning of the season, press tour, everything. I was tired just thinking about it. Scrolling through Pornhub usually helped, but it was a distraction at this point. I’d started off browsing the ‘rough’ category, filtered by most recent. Nothing caught my eye. I added ‘brunette’ in the search field. Clicked through some videos, snowballed from there. The problem was, I knew exactly what I was looking for, and what would get me off for sure, but it was the last thing I wanted to watch. I licked my thumb, shook my arm out, wet the tip of my dick again. The laptop was perched on a pillow in the middle of the bed, wheezing angrily at the lack of a hard surface underneath. It was overheating. I gave in, and used my left hand to awkwardly add the word ‘twink’ in the search bar. Did the word brunette still fit? Or was there a male version? Timmy would know shit like that. I sighed, scrolled down. I couldn’t remember the title, but the video was burned into my memory. A tall, tan, muscular man with tribal tattoos—tacky as hell—fucking a scrawny white guy. Neither of them attractive. No close-ups, average quality. The skinny guy wore socks and a sweater for most of the video. I had no idea what had made me click it in the first place, but it had me coming all over my hand and the hotel’s bedspread within five minutes. The video was barely longer than that. I remembered the big guy choking and slapping the other one, so hard it made me flinch the first time. But it was the way he fucked him from behind, the whimpers, and how he’d looked up and was suddenly coming, that had made me come too. He’d rolled them both over and the pale guy came as well, basically untouched.

My mouth felt dry. The video started playing. I’d forgotten about the deep throating. I clicked through to the fingering. The twink huffed poppers. I’d forgotten about that too. The video wasn’t sharp enough to really see his face, but his eyes looked dark. I felt disgusting. My dick jumped to my attention. I grabbed it again and stroked myself, more quickly than before. I hated how fast this would make me come. I didn’t want to look at them. I closed my eyes and just listened to the hurried whispers, the loud smacking of palm meeting face. Encouragement. Harder. There was a rapid knock at the door. Fuck, _fuck_.

I knew I put the sign on the handle so it couldn’t be housekeeping. I hit the space bar and listened for a second. Maybe they’d leave. A second series of knocks followed. _Fuck_. I retrieved my boxers from the foot of the bed where I’d kicked them off and pulled them on as I jumped up.

‘Just a sec!’

I was hard, but whoever was at the door would have to deal with it. I tried to trap my erection under my waistband. That wasn’t better. I yanked the door open. Timmy was staring into the hallway, fully dressed. He wore a bright blue suit, and his hair looked more springy than usual, his cheeks softer than I’d remembered.

‘You’re not dressed? We’re supposed to be downstairs in half an hour,’ he complained. His voice was always lower than I remembered too.

‘I just need to shower and get dressed,’ I mumbled. I scratched my beard, trying to make a lot of visual noise near my face to keep his eyes from straying. They strayed anyway. He averted his gaze, looking back into the empty hallway. He narrowed his eyes. His mouth opened, lower jaw jutting out and to the side a little. I wanted to grab his stupid face and slap his cheeks. Make them red. I cleared my throat.

‘Can I—hang?’ He had a ridiculous way of speaking; stunning me with his vocabulary on one occasion, embarrassing me five minutes later. I shrugged, turned back into the corridor and left the door open for him. I remembered my laptop, open on the bed. Should I run? Slam it shut? I walked over to the bed slowly and saw that the screen had gone dark. I left it there; it would raise suspicion if I hauled it away. Timmy dropped himself on the bed where I’d just been and smiled.

‘Right.’ I scratched my arm. ‘I’ll just shower and be right back. Take a—a drink or something.’ Timmy nodded.

 

I looked at myself in the mirror. Shaving would have to wait. Beards were in anyway. I stepped into the shower and looked down at my dick. It was still half hard. I could make myself come, quickly. Take the edge off. Do it properly later. As soon as the water started running, I realized I had to piss. I willed my erection to go down, but every time I closed my eyes, Timmy and his stupid pale cheeks popped into my head.

After I finally managed to take a piss, I washed from head to toe with shower gel and got back out. I went back into the room with a towel around my waist.

Timmy was looking at his phone, exactly where I left him. He looked slightly less pale than before, but maybe that was my imagination. I did a double take when I realized the keyboard on my laptop was lit. I was in the shower for longer than five minutes. It should not still be lighting up. Timmy gave me a bright, closed-mouth smile.

 

I dressed in black on black, deciding a full beard was enough of an eye catcher. We did red carpet, movie screening, Q&A. I already had an idea of the questions we would be asked over and over, and frankly, I was already bored. We were standing on stage and it felt awkward. I noticed Timmy next to me readjust his pants. When I looked down, I saw a clear outline of his dick behind the shiny blue fabric. He looked up, smiled at me, and covered his crotch with his jacket. He looked away, leaving me staring at him like an idiot. _Did he just?_ I realized I’d missed the question, and I missed a handful after that. I hoped my beard and my tan covered up some of my blush, but I knew it was futile.

 

I basically ripped off my clothes when I finally got back to my room. I was tired, a little drunk, but it was overruled by horniness. My bed had been made in my absence and my laptop sat closed on my bedside table. I dropped myself on top of my sheets, plugged my phone in for the night and opened my laptop again. My browser was still opened on the video I’d been watching earlier. It had played all the way to the end, and there was a round arrow on the screen begging me to play it again. I didn’t remember finishing it. _I_ definitely hadn’t finished. I hit play, this time with less shame. Oh, alcohol. I settled into my pillows and cupped my balls, legs spread-eagle across the bed. The big guy on the screen held the other’s neck in both hands and pulled him up, out of the frame, kissing him. He squeezed the other guy’s face and slapped it a couple of times before forcing his head down into his crotch. I swallowed, put my head back, closed my eyes. I was gonna savor this. I thought of Timmy’s blush on stage earlier. He was so pale, and it had only slightly touched the apples of his cheeks. His sparing smile made clear the blush was addressed to me. He’d licked the envelope, and shoved it right under my door. I opened my eyes again. Big guy had a hand firmly clasped around the other one’s neck. He told him to close his eyes. A loud smack landed on his cheek. I didn’t flinch that time, but it did make my dick twitch. He hit him again, and every time he was told it wasn’t hard enough, hands grabbing at his chest and that _ugly_ tattoo on his abdomen. He got the hands off his chest and turned the skinny kid over. He was twenty-seven; I remembered laughing at the little epilogue the first time I watched. He held him in a chokehold, forced his sweater out of the way and started fucking him again. Harder, with intent. There was another knock at my door.

‘ _Fuck_!’ I swore out loud this time. I didn’t care who heard me. Again, a second knock followed. Pushy, impatient _fucker_. I stumbled into my underpants and yanked the door open, finding exactly who I was expecting. ‘What?’

Timmy stood in the hallway—scratch that. He stood in the doorway already, both feet on the threshold. He wore sweatpants and a red sweater, hoodie pulled over his hair. My hoodie, I realized. He smiled. Another one of his closed-mouth grins that changed his whole face.

‘Can I hang?’

He most definitely could not hang, but he’d already entered the room, hands stuffed in his front pockets.

‘That’s _my_ sweater,’ I half-complained. Not that I’d realized it was missing. I knew he’d worn it before, I just didn’t know he took it.

‘Now _I’m_ wearing it,’ he shrugged. He didn’t say it was his. It was still mine. He was just wearing it. Wearing the _fuck_ out of it. He dropped himself on the bed and shut my laptop, ostentatiously whisked it away and left it on the bedside table. I was stumped. ‘You watched that already,‘ he stated matter-of-factly, as if it was a reply to a question I had written on my forehead. I scratched my bottom lip with my teeth. I was suddenly very aware of my erection. My ears burned. Was he even wearing a shirt under that sweater? Was I even awake?

Timmy’s eyes seemed more hooded than usual. They didn’t have their usual innocence. I stood in the middle of my own room. I scratched my beard. Timmy kicked his shoes off. He was staying. I was nailed to the floor. He didn’t say anything, but looked at me while he peeled his sweatpants down. Raised his hips, kicked them off his ankles, until he was wearing my sweater, socks, and boxers. I saw where this was going. There was no way I could have misunderstood this, right? His feet dangled off the bed. Those ridiculous white socks. I walked over to him until my leg hair touched his. He didn’t budge. I bent down, put my hands on the bed. Timmy pulled back a little so he could still look at me. I tugged his hoodie off. He smiled, with teeth this time. His hair was still bouncy. I grabbed his chin between my thumb and forefinger, and squeezed until his lips parted. When I realized he was okay with that, I kissed him. Rougher than necessary probably, as he let his head fall back. It felt familiar. I put my hand down his boxers and found him hard. I pulled them down. He kicked those off too. I went to pull down the zipper on his sweater, but he stopped me. Timmy propped himself up, onto his knees and shuffled back onto the bed, making room for me. I followed.

‘What are we doing?’ My voice came out so low I could barely hear it myself. It was the dumbest question I’d heard all day. It was already answered. Timmy took my hands and wrapped them both around his neck. It confirmed what I already knew; he’d seen the video. He lifted his chin a little and closed his eyes. _Lucky you_. He looked so smug. I squeezed. A smile played on his lips. His hands grazed my thighs, too confidently. I squeezed harder, watched his mouth fall open, and felt a little embarrassed when I mirrored him. I brought his head to my crotch and pulled my boxers down, put my dick in his mouth and watched him suck me, just like that. He opened his eyes, looked up and smiled. _This is what we’re doing._ I placed my hand on the nape of his neck and pushed him down. I resisted the urge to close my eyes at the feeling of his mouth around me. I wanted to watch. He drooled. It dripped from his mouth and down to my balls. I pushed him down further, the tip of my dick grazing the back of his mouth. He gagged, his entire body following. He kicked his legs out, his toes curling in his socks. I pulled his hair, pulled him off, and up again. He was still smiling. ‘Turn around,’ I ordered.

Timmy turned on his knees and lay down on his stomach, arms stretched out above his head. I noticed he was still wearing his watch; it was a dainty art deco Jaeger-LeCoultre. He loved the thing. The crocodile leather wristband made his arms look thinner and his fingers longer. There was a feigned clumsiness about him. Feigned because, even now, he seemed perfectly in control of himself. I, on the other hand, had no sense of how my head sat on my shoulders or how my hands managed to relay information to my brain. Timmy’s hands lay above his head as if he were relaxing by the pool. Just another night, just trying something different. His thumb threaded through a single curl. I couldn’t read the time. It was one of those ridiculous watches with a tiny watch face and no numbers. Timmy could probably glance at it and tell time exactly.

I buried my face in the crook of his neck. My hips followed, grinding down on him. The sweater he wore smelled of cigarettes, weather, and sweat. My sweat? It smelled like it belonged in a hamper, but it seemed that was exactly why he had put it on. I bunched it up to free the pale skin on his back. There must be blue blood somewhere in the Chalamet lineage, I thought. The boy’s basically transparent. I traced a line from his spine down to his ass and pressed a thumb into him. Timmy swayed his hips a little, allowing me in. Exactly how prepared had he come?

‘Did you finger yourself before coming here?’ The words sent chills up my own spine. Timmy hummed into the mattress and nodded. ‘Little fucker.’ Muffled chuckles turned into moans when I put two fingers inside him. He didn’t need them, but he wanted them. I spat on myself, for lack of better lubricant. I didn’t want to wait. I pushed inside him slowly but deliberately. He swallowed me. I was brutally reminded of edging twice today already. I gritted my teeth when I sat all the way inside him. Timmy laughed. He _laughed_. A deep,smug, belly laugh. _Look what I got you to do._ I put my hand over both of his and pinned them down, rolling my hips down.

‘You think that’s funny? Open your legs.’ I pried his thighs apart and sank deeper inside him the second time. I thrust into him, hard, and wrapped an arm around his neck. His hair grazed my chest as I listened to his choked moans. They didn’t sound high and helpless like the ones on the video. There was barely any voice to them.

I couldn’t see Timmy’s face and it annoyed me. I let go of his hands and neck and pulled out of him. I tugged on his sweater to roll him onto his back. I brushed his hair from his forehead and took him in. His lips were almost as red as his sweater, and it only made his skin look paler. His eyes were as dark as his hair, and they were on me, his hands following their path. A blue vein ran from the corner of his mouth over his chin and down the side of his throat. I ran my thumb down his jaw and rested my hand on his neck. It didn’t hinder Timmy. I shifted my weight, cutting off his air. That got me a reaction. He looked at me, licked his lips, and let his eyes close again. He turned on his side and raised his hips to meet mine. I wanted to, but I needed a break. I let go of his neck, watched my handprint turn from white to red. Things weren’t going fast enough to his taste, apparently. He reached out and wrapped his hand around my dick. I wrapped a hand around his and the other around his neck again. I squeezed down harder, felt him swallow. His mouth opened, his tongue slack against his bottom teeth. It was less of a decision and more of an impulse; I leaned forward and spat in his mouth. As soon as I felt the string of saliva hit my chin, I was sure I had taken things too far. Timmy flinched, but his lips didn’t close. Instead, he stuck his tongue out, ran his fingers over it and continued stroking me. I was taken aback by myself and by his reaction. I lifted my hand off his neck and brought it down on his face. The smack was nowhere near as loud as the one I’d heard in the video. Timmy’s cheek instantly turned pink, and his smile was back. I slapped him again, turned him back onto his stomach and drove inside him.

I had a hand in his hair and one under his chin. I put my knees between his and fucked him, how _I_ wanted it. I felt his body tighten as I took his air; he clenched down on me and his socked feet tried to hold on to my calves. He was so hot and soft, and I could feel his heartbeat. It was faster than my own. I buried my face against his cheek and felt his rhythmic moans against my skin. I gave him all I had and wanted to give him more, crawl inside him. I bit down on his neck as I felt myself come, first on the tip of my tongue and on my burning face. It forced my eyes shut. I came inside him with a sob, trying to ride it out my climax as long as possible. My grip on Timmy’s neck relaxed as I felt my body melt into his. I was so heavy. He nudged his shoulder into mine. I rolled us both over, him on top of me, me still inside of him.

‘Make yourself come,’ I told him. He ground his ass down against me and stroked himself. His hand knotted in my hair. I didn’t know what to do with my own hands, so I wrapped them over his chest, securing him in place. He came, quickly, over my hands and his sweater. His body arched off mine and came back down. It was surprisingly comfortable to have him draped over me. Immediately, his chuckle was back. He opened my arms and slipped off my chest. His face resting on my shoulder, our legs still entangled. He kissed my beard, propped himself up on one arm and smiled at me.

‘You’re blushing,’ he teased. As if what we’d just done wasn’t worth at least a little flush. I knew I was beet red. Timmy had a red splotch on his cheek, and that was entirely my doing. The tip of his nose was red too though. I reached a hand between his legs. He was wet, hot, soft. He dropped his face against my shoulder with a groan.I wiped my hand on his sweater.

‘We need another shower,’ I sighed.

‘Not yet,’ Timmy mumbled. I wasn’t sure what he was implying, but he wasn’t moving, and I was okay with that. I lifted his wrist and checked the time. It was too late.

‘You really need to wash this sweater now,’ I remarked.

‘Hmm, not yet.’


End file.
